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Chicken Pox

Yep. The Little Dude has the Chicken Pox. It was only a matter of time. Last week we got the news that a classmate had it, and this week we heard about another. I saw a few spots on his neck on Thursday night and hoped it was just one of the myriad weird rashes that we with our sensitive skin are prone to. But when I went to wake him up on Friday morning I did not even have to turn on the light to know he had Chicken Pox. I could feel the bumps on him in the dark. And since we have not vaccinated the Little Dude yet (aaaaand cue controversy) I knew we were next. 

This is day three of Chicken Pox. He's managing pretty well, so long as he is not tired or hungry, and so long as I'm not attempting to put Calamine lotion on him. THAT is for sure not his favourite thing! 

I don't know if you can see it, but he has a chicken pock (is that the singular, and "pox" is the plural? I feel like it is. Humour me if I'm wrong) on the inner edge of his upper eyelid. Isn't that the worst!? It makes me cringe inwardly, but I'm trying not to let him see it because it does not seem to bother him. Thank goodness. 

But he was done with pictures pretty quickly. Patience is in pretty short supply around here. 

Though he was willing to model his gloves. He wears these at night to keep him from scratching. The only way this works is because they are so cool. With the glow in the dark skeleton bones on them and whatnot, I didn't even have to ask twice!

So far our best coping strategy for dealing with the discomfort of Chicken Pox though has been reading. Reading stories aloud. Between Hubs and I we read out loud to the boys for most of the day yesterday. L.D. is pretty tired and listless, so he is very happy to be tucked up against one of us, listening to a graphic novel like the Lizard of Oz (aka The Marvelous Land of Oz, by Eric Shanower and Skottie Young) or hearing a couple of chapters about life on the Prairie with Laura and Mary. Or any number of endless picture books from our latest library trip. Sophie's Squash and Hugless Douglas are current favourites. And the Little Guy has never met a read-aloud story he did not like, so he is happy to listen along too. And at those crisis moments of the day when no one is available to read, like the dreaded hour before supper time, we are supplementing with a judicious amount of medicinal Magic School Bus and Veggie Tales. Its all about distraction.

On a side note, our resident three-year-old could not be happer! (For now. Give or take a 12-14 day incubation period.) And it may just be in contrast to his pretty miserable big brother, but the Little Guy is in the BEST. MOOD. EVER! He's practically skipping around here, reveling in his good health and high spirits. I wouldn't say he is doing it to spite his brother, but it sure is annoying him never theless. Its like when you work in an office, and you go in on that day that you have a cold and PMS combined, and you are super annoyed to be there and there is a little black cloud hanging over your head that all the coffee and chocolate in the world could not dispel. And then your co-worker comes waltzing in all excited about a new pair of shoes and dancing to their favourite song, and being all like "Can you BELIEVE this weather? SO gorgeous, right!?" and you just want to punch them? Yep, that is the dynamic between my two kids today. There has been a lot of "TELL HIM TO STOP SINGING!" I feel bad for them both. And also me. I certainly feel bad for me. 

Anyhow, as my wise Mother always says: "This too will pass." Though sadly, it won't pass in time for us to attend our big family Thanksgiving Dinner. Sigh. But the aforementioned wise Mother who is also a very kind Grandma has promised to deliver us our very own pumpkin pie and has already dropped off an organic chicken for us to roast and a jar of our her own home made apple sauce. We'll miss the company of course, but so long as there is pumpkin pie, there will be peace. 

worst New Year's Eve yet.

So I really hope that old adage is not true. You know, that one that says whatever you are doing when you ring in the New Year sets the tone for what you will be doing for the rest of the year. Because if that is the case, I'm going to be spending a lot of time at the hospital.

Let me start by saying I am not a fan of New Year's Eve. New Year's is my worst holiday. I want it to be fabulous, everybody says its going to be fabulous, I have such high hopes and then it sucks. Too expensive, turns out to be boring. The worst. I mean, it used to be fun. I can remember some good New Year's Eve parties. Great house parties with my lovely friends, (2000 in particular was memorable). But really, though I hate to say it, the festivities do a very quick slide down-hill once you have kids.

But I had adjusted my expectations this year. I had a simple plan. Hubs and I were staying in (so no need to go broke on a baby sitter or drive really far in the bitter cold), I was going to make some tasty, noshy snack thing, we were going to crack open a bottle of wine and watch not one, but two movies. I know, rock stars, right? Seriously though, I told you I was lowering expectations. But still, I was looking forward to it. Had rented the movies (one sci-fi action, one comedy) planned the snacks and was ready to go. The Little Dude was a bit under the weather, had a slight fever earlier in the day and had taken a nap as a result, but still, I thought we were good to go. What a fool I am. Have a not learned anything in my five plus years of being a parent? I'll bet even you can guess how this story ends. About 20 minutes before the end of the first movie we heard L.D. wake up and when I went into his room to see how he was, I was surprised to find that he not only had a fever, but indeed had a fever of nearly 105. And his teeth were chattering, and he was coughing and his heart was beating like a wild bird in a cage and he was crying and telling us how much his head hurt. 

So after a quick call to Telehealth Ontario (I love that service) we decided to head over to the hospital. Got him all suited up, grabbed health cards, a blanket and a stack of books and a water bottle and went out into the still, dark night. 

Once we were in the car and he was over the shock of waking up, ("I just want you to let me have my sleeping!" he had wailed when we told him we were going to the hospital) he was very calm and clear. Endearingly so. "Its so beautiful at night Mom. Look at all the lights! And we're the only people driving.", he said with wonder. I held his hand between the seats and we drove to the hospital in record time. It is amazing how much faster you get places when there is no traffic. And the Emergency ward was blessedly empty, with only one case in front of us in the triage line. Even so, it still takes some time. I was glad for the stack of kids books I had along, as it passed the time in between testing and diagnosis and prescription/recommendations and discharge. By the time we left it was past 3:00 am, but we were glad to have gone in since we found out he has a (so far) mild case of pneumonia, and now can treat it effectively. 

And so now we wait and rest and heal. And while I certainly did not enjoy my New Year's Eve, per se, it was, as the Little Dude observed "so interesting to be awake when everyone else is asleep." And it was a wonderful relief to bring him home and tuck him into his own little super hero sheeted bed, and receive his groggy little, normally temperatured hug. 

And now if someone will just tell me where to find those four hours of sleep I seem to have misplaced, that would be awesome. Ah well, at least I don't have a hang-over.

guess what?

So the poor Baby is sick again. And I know, I know, he's not a baby anymore (as he is quick to tell me). He's more than two and a half years old. But still, he's my baby, and since his place in the family makes him the smallest of us all, he still occasionally gets called "the Baby" around here. Unless he's being refered to by his older brother in which case he gets called "stinker" or "bumcheek". As in "That's my car, you stinker!" or "ARGH, give it BACK! Bumcheek!" Yeah, we're working on that. 

Anyhow, as I was saying, the Baby is sick. Has just had the worst lingering cough that aaaaalmost goes away and just when you say to yourself "hey, I think that cough is almost gone!" we have a terrible, terrible night where he coughs and coughs and nobody gets much sleep. 

And last night was one of those nights. I sat upstairs, laying out the patches for a new quilt and listening to him 'cough cough' his way through the early evening, until it finally woke him up completely and he cried for me. I ran down to his room and sat in the chair with him and cuddled him, because what else can you do? We have a humidifier running, the crib mattress is on an angle, he's had a homeopathic remedy (Coryzalia) and I've rubbed Vicks on his feet and given him a spoon full of honey, and beyond that, there is nothing you can give a two year old for a cough (though if you have any suggestions I'd love to hear them) And now we sit together in the chair for cuddles. And his coughing finally subsides. I don't know how long it will last, but we sit in blessed silence for a moment at least. He's curled up with his head against my chest and I'm drawing slow circles on his back trying to coax him into sleep again. His breathing starts to become more regular and he has that extra bit of soft oozy weightiness to him that makes me think he's probably fallen asleep. But then he stirs and I hear his raspy, middle of the night baby voice. 

"Mom...Guess what?" he asks.

"What?" I reply, my voice full of tender mother-love.

"Tsicken Butt." he sweetly answers, and with perfect comic timing I might add. 

It takes me a moment to register what he has said (that little baby lisp making the 'ch' at the beginnins of 'chicken' more of a 'tsy' making him sound like an adorable little old Dutch man), but as soon as it clicks in I burst into laughter. Quiet laughter, because its the middle of the night and his slepping brother and father are not far away. So it was mostly me shaking as I laughed and laughed. But still, he knows laughter when he feels it, and seemed to find it rewarding.

"I called you 'Tsicken Butt' Mom." he repeats proudly, savouring his good joke. 

"Yes you did." I confirm. "You're crazy."

"Yeah, Crazy Boy." he adds with satisfaction. 

And then he hunkered down. And fell asleep. 

operation day

Today was the big day. Tonsilectomy day. We were up er-lee. So early. And that was after a difficult night with the Little Dude waking up at 3 am, asking for water, and of course I could not give it to him, as you can't eat or drink after midnight before a surgery. We had explained this to him, but hearing about it, was completely different than experiencing it. And especially in his middle-of-the-night groggieness, he was just completely beside himself. He wanted that water. And I could not give it to him. Forty-five minutes of irrational incoherence later he was finally asleep again. And at that point I had just a little more than an hour left to sleep before my alarm would go off. Blerg.

Anyhow, we were at the hospital by 6:30. Did I mention it was early?

Too early for pictures even. We waited and checked in and then waited some more. Good thing we brought a bunch of books with us. 

He was just starting to get restless, peeking around corners and checking out the recovery room, when they finally called out his name.

We got him dressed in some snazzy hospital pyjamas....

...complete with a hat....

...and shoes, that the nice nurse had to fix for us because Mommy did not know how to put them on properly. ahem.

He was so good and co-operative about the whole experience. Not that as a parent I value compliance over everything else. It was more about the experience not being traumatic for him, that was what I hoped for the most today. Once we were up and on the road and over the worst of the shock of getting up so early, he was generally all smiles and chatter. He was happy to be at the hospital and happy to tell every one that would listen that he was have surgery today, and that afterwards he was going to get a new toy. He didn't complain about being hungry or thirsty at all (now that he was lucid) and answered all the questions and co-operated well when they took his vitals and stuff like that. He did not seem at all worried, which was what I had hoped for most. And finally, just a little after 8:00 we walked across the hall with the surgical nurse, and came to a big door with a sign above it. That sign was for us; the Mommy and the Daddy. It was here that we had to stop and go no further. And the Little Dude happily, trustingly took the nurses hand and headed with her for that door. It was I who said, "Can I give you a hug and kiss before you go?" "oh, right!" he said, as though he just remembered something he almost forgot. And then Hubs and I got our hugs and kisses.

And then he was gone. Down that long, long hall. Happily swinging Hopkins Bunny by the ears and telling the nurse about Lego no doubt. Away from us. To surgery.

I tell you, that is a tough parenting moment. To know what is going to happen, and at the same time to NOT know exactly how it is going to happen, is difficult, to say the least. I'm not a big cryer, but I definitely had to take a moment, get a hug from Hubs and then go find a bathroom and quietly weep for a few minutes. I mean, he's about to get anesthetized and then have a part cut out of him! I know that rationally, it is a part that he doesn't need anymore, and that he will be better for it. But still. Also, I would have felt much better if I could have stayed with him until he was under. Because I was worried that it'd be stressful and he'd be all alone. Like, do they just give him a needle. I don't think he's ever had a needle before. Will he freak out? Will they have to hold him down. Ach, the thought of it almost makes me cry again. 

But the nice doctor had already come and chatted with us, and we had our beeper, and there was nothing more I could do for him now, so I dried my eyes and went to the cafteteria to eat my anxiety. Don't judge. The anxiety was wrapped in caramel and dipped in fudge and was very, very tasty. I called my mom. I read a book. And about a half an hour later the surgeon came to find us and tell us that it was all done. The large and infected tonsils had been removed, and his very swollen adenoids as well, and they'd also cleaned his perpetually wax-filled ears out. (one of them had so much wax packed in there that what they'd removed was the size of a gumball he said. A disgusting but vivid analogy. The zit-popper and scab-picker in me briefly kind of wished I could see that wax gumball. But then it passed.) The surgeon was very pleaed with the outcome and told us that our Little Dude would be in recovery for the next half hour to forty minutes before we could seen him. So we sat in the cafeteria until we couldn't wait any longer and then wandered back to the day surgery unit. We walked into the waiting area just in time to see him being wheeled through on his bed. 

What a bitter-sweet sight it is to see your child after surgery. I was thrilled to see him safe and sound and out of the mysterious depths of the hospital into a big open room where I could touch and hold him and assure myself of his safety. But at the same time, its hard to see him all limp and confused and groggy, eyes unfocused, hooked up to tubes and wires, with bits of dried blood still around the edges of his mouth and nose, so there is no use in your mind trying to deny the graphic truth of what has happend to his tiny body. But it is over! And that in itself is such a relief. After saying "hi buddy!" and kissing his head I asked him how he felt. "Tired" he sighed, but rolled his eyes slowly around to see me and asked "Can I have my Toy now?" I had it in my hand, and opened the little package so he could put together his new minifig. And despite the anaesthesia barely haveing worn off, he still managed to fumble around and match the head to the body and the body to the legs and top the little guy off with a hat. He even smiled a little. He obliged the lovely nurse by taking a sip of water and then asking for the promised box of apple juice. Finally they thought it was time for him to get dressed in his own clothes again, and soon, Daddy hoisted him up in his arms and carried him out to the car and we were on our way home again, home again, jiggety, jig.

He fell asleep in the car, and had a nice long nap once we got home. We carried him to bed and offered him his first few bites of jello. He helped make it last night, and was excited about trying it, but seemed unimpressed today. After two bites he was done. "Did you like it Bub?" I asked. "yeah, but I'm full now" he said, and fell back asleep with the final bite in his mouth where it dissovled and ran out all over his pillow. He smelled pleasantly of fake lime when I went to clean him up. After he woke up he managed to eat a popsicle, and have another first: his first movie. We watche My Neighbor Totoro together on a laptop in his room. Hard to tell what he thought of it, as he was still groggy, but he watched the whole thing with a slack-jawed demeanour that was difficult to classify as to whether it was wonder or just the remainig effects of the anaesthesia. It was very useful though, because he seemed to like it enough that whenever I'd pause it, he'd look to me to start it back up again, which I would happily, as soon as he'd taken a bite of popsicle or a sip of juice. We got quite a bit of fluids into him that way. Tricky Mommy. 

After the movie, he was grumpy and whiney, but Gran and Grandpapa came over with the Baby to visit and they brought him another new toy, and once they'd gone he spent a happy hour or so with me, putting it together and playing with it.
There were even a few smiles. Smiles were in short supply this afternoon, so I took what I could get. 

Hubs picked up some sushi for dinner, since the nurse told us that he could eat anything he wanted, so long as he wanted it and could get it down, and his request was his favourite avacado maki. He put two on his plate, and downed one very quickly. But at the second one the pain (and frustration) of not being able to eat his favourite food kicked in and he wailed and cried his little heart out. I help him on my lap while he stuggled through a tiny bowl of sorbet, and then, spoon in hand, he fell asleep. It'd been a long day for all of us. So I carried him to bed and lay there with him for awhile before going back to eat my own dinner. 

And now the night stretches before us. I don't know how it'll go. But I'll be there on the futon beside his bed (as per the anaesthesiologist's suggestion). I'm just so glad that we are done with the worst part and now just have to weather the recovery. 

And I want to thank you, those who are still here at the end of a veeeeeerrrrry long post. Possibly this is just my moms and my sisters. But still, I thank you ALL for your love and support over the phone and internet and in person. You guys are the best. I felt held up by you today, and it meant so much to know that there were others thinking of us. And now of to sleep. I hope. 

on the mend

Had our first full night's sleep in five days last night. Yes, that means that Friday night, Saturday night, Sunday night and Monday night were very, very poor nights of constantly interrupted sleep. If the Little Dude and I slept at all it was in 45 minute intervals, bookended by 15-20 minute coughing fits. It was rotten. But last night. Oh, last night we slept the whole. night. through. And it was glorious. I did not feel he was well enough to send him off to school today, but he was much improved and even ate some dinner. Five meatballs, two beans, a potato wedge and a spoon full of peas! Which is awesome, since over the last four days he's basically eaten only cornflakes with rice milk and the occasional half a popsicle. Its been rough. I'm telling you, it freaks me out when he won't eat.

Anyhow, I very much look forward to a good sleep again tonight (fingers crossed) and I promise, as soon as he is ship shape again I will do my best to keep the blog from being so boringly about the minutiae of my kid's health and diet.

And here, for the Grandparent's viewing pleasure are a few pictures of my kids playing with lego. The Little Dude and Hubs made an elevator together.

It really works!

And the Baby does his own thing with the lego too.
I love his squishy, serious concentrating face. 

Oh, and I just have to write this down before I forget it. After three or four days of lovely, spring like weather it rained and rained today. And while we were sitting having dinner, it got colder and that rain turned to snow. At first just little, sparse flakes, but eventually these big, lush, swirling flakes that landed on the balcony with an almost audible "plaff". Hubs and I tut tutted about it momentarily, and then went on eating dinner. But a few minutes later, the Baby turns around in his chair and points out the window. "No! No!" he says. I looked up to see what he was objecting to and saw him seeing the flakes. "Yeah Baby, I know" I said, "that's Snow." "NO!" he exclaimed, "Me no like dat!" and then he burst into tears, "No Snow! go 'way! No winner time! I go outside!" It was the saddest cute thing ever. He's been loving to go outside with me to hang laundry, in his rubber boots and spring jacket, and it looked like he was seeing all his fun times disappear under a fresh layer of snow. 

I think that's how we are all feeling these days. Hurry up spring. Come here to stay.

sitting the the waiting rooms of doctor's offices....

....felt like my new hobby today. The poor Little Dude has had a cough/infection thing that he just was not able to shake, and not to bore you with the whole tiresome story, but he and I spent the better part of this afternoon going to the doctor and then going to the emergency ward at the hospital, and then having a proceedure and two different treatments before we finally came home after his usual bed time. And the (happy) end result is that I have a little boy who is actually sleeping right now, instead of coughing so hard the he ends up literally throwing up. And I myself cherish the tenuous hope of getting a solid nights sleep as well. Oh, sweet sleep, how I miss you.

Amnyhow, after our whole day I have two things to say: 1. That kid is a trooper when it comes to medical stuff. He was not always happy about it, but he did comply with all the requests of the doctors and nurses, even wearing that little paper mask for the entire time at the hospital (to avoid passing what he had on to others, and also so that he did not catch something worse) even though he really, really did not like it. It was kind of funny, so many people looked in his ears and down his throat that when a new medical professional walked into the room, he pretty much automatically opened his mouth and said 'aaahh'. Which made nurse number four laugh and quip "It looks like he knows the drill!" And 2. Thank the Lord in Heaven for Canadian Health Care. I must say, the wait times were really reasonable, the whole system ran like a well oiled machine, and though I left the house at 3:30 and did not get back till 8:30, a heck of a lot got accomplished in between. We saw a doctor in a timely fashion, despite the fact that we did not have an appointment, and our time at the hospital was so filled with actual proceedures and talking with doctors, nurses and specialists that the Little Dude got annoyed and said "When are we going to finish reading our book!" Don't worry, we did manange to read that book, but more importantly we felt very well cared for by everybody there. And also, can I say how awesome it is that I did not have to hem and haw and worry about how much the various proceedures cost? I cannot imagine how much it would suck to have to have one's budget added as a decision making factor when your are considering your child's health. As a Canadian, I will never again take that for granted.

And now to sleep. 

speechless

ok, I hate to sound like a broken record, but we are all sick again. (I had to actually add "complaining about being sick" as a category in the sidebar there, because in the winter months at least, it deserves its own section) The boys have a cough/cold thing. Took L.D. to a walk in clinic as our doctor is on vacation, and the walk-in doctor told us that he has tonsilitis. Seriously. The back of his throat looks like a pound of raw hamburger with maggots on it. I know, could that description be any grosser? But that is literally what it looks like. I have to be careful not to let the horror show on my face when I look down his throat with a flash light, and he is so good and co-operative and cheerful about it all that I don't want to be anything but positive in return. Though on the inside I am shuddering. Anyhow, I can't wait till our regular doctor comes back so that I can get a good and thorough opinion with all his history taken into account. I think we may be looking at a tonsilectomy. Sigh. The Baby has a much milder cough/cold and they are both lovely cheerful little ducks despite it all. On the other hand, I am a cranky moody wreck. Because I have A: a cold B: laryngitis and C: my period. I'm telling you I don't know whether to lay down and die or jump off the roof (all hyperbole and exageration, don't worry my kind responsible relatives).

But its not the nights of sleepless congestion that have me down. Nor the cramps and headaches. No, what is really driving me mental is that I've lost my voice. Like, completely. I can barely whisper and it is making. me. insane. 

If you are a regular reader of this blog, you may have noticed that I am, how shall I put this, Chatty. Verbose. A bit of a Talker. It's a family affliction which I like to sum up as "Why use 20 words when 80 would do?" So when I say that it is difficult for me not to talk, that is probably the understatement of the century. 

Also, you'd think that not being able to talk would lead to increased marital hamony, wouldn't you? Oh, but you'd be wrong. Not being able to talk to hubs, to let him know what I'm thinking, to ask him to do it this way, please, not that way, to communicate all the many small details of our daily parenting tasks to ask him to pass me this, or catch that before it falls or any of the small and sundry things that I need to communicate to him.... its making me crazier than I ever have been before, and that is saying something. Its pretty hard to be a snappy bitch when you can't speak, but I am doing a bang up job of miming the snappiest bitchiness I can manage. And I don't think he cares for it.

Its just so FRUSTRATING! I have a huge amount of renewed empathy for all small children on the verge of being verbal. Now I know why they have tantrums so much.

And I had never realized just how much I have to repeat myself as I parent. How many times you have to say. "Can you please take your coat and put it on the hook? No your coat. Yes, that one. On the hook. Can you put it on the hook please? Yes, that hook. Thank you!" And that's a fairly concise one. The conversation I had with L.D. as he tried to get undressed for the bath tonight was longer. "Yes you can. You can take off your own pants. I know you can. Just pull them from the cuff. Yeah, the bottom part, near your ankle. No, sit down, then you won't fall over. Yes, you can. I know you can do it on your own. See, that part right there at the bottom. That's right. Ok, now pull it away from you. Both sides. You only get stuck if you try to take your socks off at the same time. Try it again. Yeah. See, you did it!" 

So. many. words. I know, I know, I could just do it for him, but I want to avoid raising an entitled little emporer who cannot take off his own pants (and he's totally capable of it, its just that he was wearing skinny jeans and they got bunched around his ankles.) so I have to talk him through it. But today I literally cannot say those words. 

There is probably a beautiful metaphor filled meditation I could write about words and what they mean and communication in marriage and how life teaches you lessons and blah, blah, blah. But I am just really, really tired andhave decided to spend the rest of my evening as pleasantly and passively as possible, by disappearing into the escapist fantasy of someone else's life for awhile (got a new stack of DVD's from the library) and drowning my sorrown in honey and lemon and ginger and chocolate. Oh yeah, a whole lotta chocolate. 

And maybe tomorrow I'll be able to speak again.